


One More Scotch

by PassionsLikeMine (passionslikemine)



Category: The Following
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-11-29 02:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passionslikemine/pseuds/PassionsLikeMine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It didn't end with one more scotch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Help, I've fallen into a new fandom and I can't get up. I almost couldn't wait to finish the last two minutes of the third episode, this fic was so insistent on being written! A missing scene, and possibly even more, may follow...

The scotch was poured in a comfortable silence, the sort Ryan only knew in the distant memories of the company of his closest friends. It had been a long time since someone had put his mind at ease, but Joe had done precisely that. He’d given him valuable information, the chance to close this months-long case, and he’d poured Ryan his finest scotch. What was there to dislike? 

“I really appreciate all the help you’ve given me,” said Ryan, a word too close to earnest. Joe smiled, and it spread across his face slowly, his eyes shining like a cat’s in the dim light of the living room. The heat that started to pool in Ryan’s stomach was not entirely due to scotch.

“As I said, it isn’t every day one is able to help an FBI murder investigation.” His fingers were wrapped loosely, comfortably around the lowball glass, and what little light there was caught the glint of Joe’s wedding ring. Ryan swallowed, remembering himself. He had no time to linger, especially not with this man, but Joe seemed to catch his eye, and his smile broadened.

“My wife won’t be home tonight,” said Joe, calmly, as though he’d commented on the scotch, “and we have an.. open arrangement.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” quipped Ryan, too nervous to be sincere.

“Oh, I don’t think you mind either way,” replied Joe, voice low and teasing and far, far too self-assured. Joe set his scotch down, and damn him if he didn’t _beckon_ , a twitch of his fingers, a motion that seemed to pull Ryan to the couch with a magnetic force. Ryan sat down, his thigh brushing against Joe’s, and barely swallowed down the last of his scotch before Joe leaned in and closed the gap between them for a long, long while.

_Oh yes,_ Joe thought bitterly, _I know exactly how they feel._


	2. One More Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was one more question in the letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I've been too busy to catch up with The Following since I wrote this, consider this story slightly AU, if you didn't already.

Claire comes back. She hates it, hates everything, from the placid look on Joe’s face to the officer positioned outside the room. (She’d refused to come if they waited inside. She couldn’t promise not to hit him, but she’d sworn not to, signed her name on a dotted line, just so she could be torn apart by Joe once more.)

“Where is Joey?” she asks, just as Joe inhales. His brow furrows, but it passes, as quickly as his temper once had. (That had always been the sticking point, long after she’d accepted everything else. He’d never had a temper. Weren’t serial killers filled with rage? She’d asked herself over and over.)

“You never finished answering my questions.” Claire breathes in, tells herself she won’t hit him, but she doesn’t stop the anger in her words.

“He was _far_ better than you. I can’t even look back to those times, knowing what you did with those hands-” Joe holds up a hand, and it stops her short. He’s smiling. (She used to love his smile. Now all she thinks of is Joey, and how much she wants him back, so she can remember the only good thing Joe ever gave the world.)

“There was another question in the letter, Claire.” She looks at him, caught off guard, briefly puzzled, and forces herself to go back through the letter in her mind. 

“ ‘Did he tell you about us?’,” she says, curious despite herself. “No, I- no.” He smiles again, leaning back in his chair. 

“He wouldn’t have, would he? You’re not the only one to have passed the night in his company.” He looks up at the camera, and she hates him. Everything she’s touched, he’s destroyed it for her. Her life, her son, Ryan. (She breathes in, and for one brief second, feels the urge to attack him again, stronger than before. She doesn’t know how she’d do it -bash his head against the table, choke him with the chains- but it would _hurt_.) 

“I made him sing,” he says, as she walks out; even Joey can’t keep her there. 


End file.
